The Secret Ingredient

by Laura Schaefer

  “Cool. What does it stand for?”

  “Um, Research, Education, Action, and Policy. They work with farmers on school lunch issues and sponsor chef visits to classrooms and stuff. It’s awesome.”

  “Neat!” I was impressed. Zoe was already so accomplished on the tennis court and had always gotten straight A’s. And now she was ready to make her mark on the food world. I gingerly pulled the little tomatoes off the vine and ate only every fifth one. Okay, every third one.

  “Yeah. Except I told my parents all about it and they are not thrilled with the idea.” Zoe sighed. She took off her gloves for a minute to wipe the tiniest bit of sweat off her face.

  “What? Why not?”

  “You know. They want me to, like, cure cancer or something. That doesn’t leave a lot of extra time for local food activism.” Zoe’s parents were pretty intense about her grades and her tennis record. Over the summer they had seemed calmer, but now that the school year was about to begin, they must have been telling her there wasn’t time for her new passion. She frowned. “They want me to start looking at colleges already.”

  “But that’s the thing,” I said. “Louisa’s always saying that if people would just eat better, they wouldn’t get sick as much. Maybe, in a sort of indirect way, you will cure cancer. With food.”

  Zoe smiled. “Maybe. But for some reason, no one gets very excited about preventing bad things from happening. Anyway, I need to finish up here and get out to the court. I have to play at least number two singles.”

  “As a freshman?” I knew that the best player on the team was usually in the number one singles slot. For Zoe to be number two as a new team member would be incredible.

  “Yeah.” Zo got that intense look on her face that appeared when she knew she had to do something tough.

  “Zo? I know you can do anything you set your mind to. But … just … let’s enjoy high school. You know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. Hey, thanks for the help with the tomatoes.”

  “Anytime.”

  Plain Scones

  This scone is inspired by my baking lesson with Tom Hines of Batch Bakehouse in downtown Madison. He taught me that the best treats are the ones with high-quality ingredients and lots of heart. Thank you, Mr. Hines, for reminding me that sometimes the best things in life are the simple things!

  Ingredients

  2 cups King Arthur all-purpose flour

  1 tablespoon baking powder

  1/2 cup sugar

  1/2 teaspoon salt

  5 tablespoons Lurpack butter

  1 fresh egg

  2/3 cup fresh buttermilk

  1/2 teaspoon secret ingredient

  1/4 cup whole milk

  Preheat the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Mix the dry ingredients together first, then cut in the butter and egg. Slowly add the buttermilk to form a thick dough. Add the secret ingredient. Knead the dough on a board, roll to a 1-inch thickness, and cut the dough into 2-inch triangles. Place each triangle on a greased cookie sheet and brush the tops with milk. Bake for 12 to 15 minutes until golden brown; serve warm with clotted cream and jam or preserves. Makes 10 scones.

  Customer comments:

  “Exquisite!” “Incredibly amazing.” “Almost creamy …”

  August 5 10:57 a.m.

  Chapter Twenty

  My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.

  —WILKIE COLLINS, THE WOMAN IN WHITE

  I felt lucky that Zoe had forgiven me so quickly for being a less-than-great BFF. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go visit Genna, too. I biked from the community garden to the Matthews spread. I expected to find Gen out on the patio. But Sarah, the housekeeper, said she was in the basement.

  “The basement?” I repeated. “But it’s about eighty degrees and sunny. That only happens about two weeks out of the year here.”

  “I know. You should drag her outside,” Sarah said with a slight eye roll. “I tried, but she wouldn’t hear it.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I ran down the soft carpeted stairs. The basement was gorgeous, all lush micro-suede furniture and impressive theateresque equipment for watching movies. But it was still a basement. What was Genna up to?

  “There you are!” I found Gen in an area off the main room. The wall was mirrored and it was full of exercise equipment: her mom’s fitness room. Genna was sweating on an elliptical.

  “An … nie. Hey.” She was out of breath. I thought she’d hop off, but she sped up instead.

  “Gen, let’s go to the zoo or something. It’s gorgeous outside.” I sat down on a huge rubber ball and started bouncing. I was pretty sure that wasn’t what you were supposed to do with it.

  “I … can’t,” she said, wheezing. “I’m … doing … one more … hour.”

  “Genna! That’s a lot. How long have you been on that thing?”

  She finally stopped. Thank God. “I dunno. A while. Look.” She pointed. It was the latest glossy weekly magazine. Cecily Stevens was on the cover. In a bikini, looking way too skinny if you asked me.

  “So? I thought James said she was a diva. And I thought you stopped reading those so much.” I quit bouncing and looked at Genna more carefully. Her eyes seemed dull. “Genna, tell me you haven’t stopped eating again. I’m calling my mom.” I scanned the room for Genna’s phone … it couldn’t be far away. Unfortunately, it sat on the elliptical’s book holder.

  “I’m eating! I’m just exercising a bit more too.” Genna wouldn’t meet my eyes; she knew she was busted.

  “How much more?”

  “Quite a bit. How come you never yell at Zoe for practicing so much?” she said defiantly.

  “First of all, I’m not yelling. And I do worry about Zo sometimes. But she’s really careful about eating enough food and drinking the right amount of water and stuff. I’m not sure if you are,” I said gently. I knew Genna didn’t need me getting all angry with her.

  “I swear, I am eating. I had a smoothie an hour ago.”

  “Okay. I won’t call my mom. But Genna, will you please stop worrying so much about being skinny? It’s just … boring.” It was.

  She laughed. I exhaled in relief. “I know. It is. But I’m trying out for show choir and they wear these huge sequined blouses that are going to look ridiculous on me. I want to look good.”

  “You do look good. Please, please, please believe me,” I pleaded with her. Genna was so pretty. Ever since we’d all been twelve, boys had followed her around. Why couldn’t she see it?

  “I believe you. It’s just … I feel like you don’t …”

  “I don’t what?”

  “Like, live in the real world. Don’t get mad. It’s just that I really want to be an actress, and it’s rough out there. Casting directors don’t care how healthy you are. They just want a certain look. And that is it.” She pointed at Cecily.

  “Oh, Genna.” I loved that Gen was so creative and talented. I thought that every single time I’d seen her onstage in anything, she’d been amazing. But why did she think that to go to the next level, she had to look like everyone else?

  “It’s just really hard. I’m already at a disadvantage because I don’t live in New York or LA.”

  I wished that Genna could be happy with a healthy, slightly boring life here in Madison. But I was starting to accept that she never would. All I could do when she pushed herself to extremes was to try and push back a little. And listen.

  I gave her a hug then, and talked her into coming out into the sun.

  Dear readers,

  Fruit teas are a great way to enjoy healthy foods in a fun way. Here’s a fun fruit-infused iced tea recipe. It’s super refreshing. Hope you like it!

  Orange Strawberry Iced Tea

  Ingredients

  cup brewed green tea (I used a ginger blend from Louisa, but any kind of green tea is fine)

  2/3 cup orange juice

  1/3 cup sliced strawberries

  2 teaspoons sugar

  1/3 cup ice cu
bes

  In a large pint glass, place ice cubes. Add tea, juice, and sugar. Stir. Add sliced strawberries and enjoy!

  <3 Annie

  August 5 9:31 p.m.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Tea. Earl Grey. Hot. And whoever this “Earl Grey” fellow is, I’d like to have a word with him….

  —JEAN-LUC PICARD, STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION

  Two weeks flew by. I spent most of it baking, of course. I did decide to add a few bonus ingredients to my perfect scones, but I kept them a secret from everyone. I wasn’t being suspicious; I just didn’t want to jinx myself by being too sure that I’d go to the finals. Even though I chalked with Genna and Zoe again, handed out more fliers, and commented on practically every other blog on the entire Internet, SteepingLeafScone.com was stuck in seventh place on the leader board. SweetCakes kept inching up until it overtook first place from Master Baker. It seemed so unfair. The mean blog comments continued, but by now I had so many nice followers leaving kind messages that SweetCakes didn’t seem to matter as much. Especially when people started saying things like, “What is your problem?” to her.

  Zach stayed away from the Leaf, but I did see him once, riding his bike down Monroe Street very slowly. Forgetting everything, I even waved to him. But I don’t think he saw me. Or if he did, he didn’t care. I wondered if we’d ever be friends again, if we had ever been friends in the first place.

  There wasn’t time to worry about it. I was so determined to get to Chicago that I’d started visiting neighbors and other Monroe Street businesses in person to tell them about my blog. I had to try absolutely everything. A nice woman from Madison magazine did a post about me on their website, and several restaurants around the square let me hang up little posters about the blog and the scone competition in their windows. I sure hoped it would pay off. I still hadn’t purchased any new clothes for school or gotten a haircut. It seemed that my brain was on a constant loop repeating, “Get-more-blog-followers-practice-baking-get-more-blog-followers-practice-baking …”

  Zoe still didn’t make any headway with the Madison school board, but she burst into the Leaf one day when I was experimenting with a new scone glaze.

  “Annie! The principal of a charter school in Mount Horeb called me. She saw my video on your blog!”

  “OMG, that is awesome!” I was so excited for Zoe, of course, but also happy to hear I had blog readers in Mount Horeb, which was an adorable suburb about twenty minutes away. “What did she say?”

  Zoe threw a pretend ball in the air and made a serving motion, grinning from ear to ear. “She said she was interested in sourcing some food locally. I put her in touch with Murphy Farms and Harmony Valley!”

  “Wow. Those lucky kids are going to eat the best cottage cheese ever,” I said. I rushed over to Zo to give her a hug. “Way to go!”

  “She said she’d been researching the issue for a while and just got a federal grant. So now it’s just a matter of logistics … getting food directly from the farm to the school every week. Fortunately, the school has its own kitchen, which is incredible. It’ll make it a lot easier.”

  “That sounds amazing.” It was a great victory for local food and for Zoe! I was so proud of my friend. I wished we lived in a warmer climate so she could garden all year long.

  Genna and James broke up. I couldn’t believe it when Gen breezed into the Leaf to announce it, perfectly calm. I expected her to be devastated, but she said that she was getting bored of having a relationship of just texts. The real story was that when she tried out for show choir at West High, a cute sophomore named Sam had caught her eye, with his “adorable jazz hands.” They’d already started rehearsing even though the first day of school was more than two weeks away. I was just happy that Genna seemed to have forgotten about Cecily Stevens and her too-skinny arms. For the moment.

  The day before the eight a.m. deadline, SteepingLeaf Scone.com was not in the top five. I couldn’t believe it. We were only nineteen blog followers behind Miss CuppyCake, who was in fifth place with 557 followers. In a last-ditch attempt to qualify for the Chicago bake-off, I asked every one of my best regular Steeping Leaf customers and supporters to come to the teashop. Ling brought Hieu and her husband. Oliver and Theresa came in. The Kopinskis arrived, and Mr. Silverman was there via Skype from Europe on Beth’s laptop. Mr. Arun was there, as was the owner of Samadhi Spa. My mom, dad, sister, and brothers all arrived. Genna and Zoe came, of course, and Louisa gave us all a pep talk.

  “As you all know, our dear Annie has worked very, very hard on her wonderful food blog. I couldn’t be more proud of her efforts. Not only has she reached out to the community once again, but she’s invented some truly original and delicious recipes. We’re so close to qualifying for the final bake-off!” Everyone clapped and smiled at me.

  I continued. “I need all of you to do your best to help me this evening.” I went to the laptop and pulled up the leader board. “As you can see, we are not in the top five. I need some new blog followers before tomorrow, and chances are, I’ll need more than nineteen. The numbers are constantly changing. We keep trading slots, and the top five seem to be working hard tonight also to maintain their lead. Please spend a little time calling or e-mailing your friends and family and ask them to support us! If you can think of anyone with a blog of their own, please have them do a quick post about our contest.”

  Everyone clapped again. There was a lot of rustling as people pulled out their phones and began dialing and texting. Since I had already called, e-mailed, or visited everyone I had ever met (and lots of people I hadn’t), I decided to make sure everyone was well hydrated while they helped out. I went behind the counter and got busy making pots of tea and delivering them around the shop.

  Genna looked up from her phone after a few minutes and said she couldn’t think of anyone else to call. “But I know you have a lot of followers in New York already,” she assured me, looking sad. “I sent out an e-mail to the whole theater camp list last week. And I texted everyone in my phone, my dad’s phone, my mom’s phone, and our housekeeper’s phone. Sam said he did the same.”

  “That’s okay, Gen. The important thing is that we’ve done everything we could think of. And it’s so great that all these people are here trying to help.”

  Zoe had borrowed her brother’s phone for the night and texted everyone in his address book. “Too bad we’re not in school, actually. We could put posters on everyone’s locker like the cheerleaders do before a big tournament.”

  “I like that idea. Oh well,” I said wistfully. I refilled pots and thanked everyone for coming. Eventually it was time for people to go. I planned to help Louisa lock up, and walk back home with my family.

  SteepingLeafScone.com did get five or six new followers over the course of the evening, but because everyone who had gathered had already helped spread the word earlier, it was hard to find new people who hadn’t heard about the blog. The leaders kept pulling further ahead, and I started to accept that maybe we were at the end of the road. I guess I’d finally have time to get a haircut. Maybe I’d help Zoe with her harvest too.

  I’m ashamed to admit I felt a tiny bit relieved when I went to bed and saw that SteepingLeafScone.com was in seventh place. All along I’d been nervous about going to Chicago and not only having to bake in front of other people and cameras in a strange place (onstage), but also talk to the judges.

  And meet SweetCakes.

  I’d been so worried that the moment I laid eyes on her, I’d lose my cool and, like, cry or something. But now it seemed I wouldn’t have to do any of that. I felt the adrenaline drain out of my body. The relief mixed with disappointment as I thought about how hard I had worked to learn to become a credible baker and blogger. How could it all be for nothing?

  Dear readers,

  The end of the contest is coming up soon. We’re almost there! Just a few more followers here means I’ll get to go to Chicago in September. Please tell your friends and family to visit the blog and consider f
ollowing me if they like what they read. I’d love to have a chance to go to the finals and show the world what the Steeping Leaf and the Teashop Girls are all about!

  Thank you so much for the support you’ve given me over the last several weeks. Hugs to you all.

  <3 Annie

  August 20 10:14 p.m.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  More and more clearly as the scones disappeared into his interior he saw that what the sensible man wanted was a wife and a home with scones like these always at his disposal.

  —P. G. WODEHOUSE, BACHELORS ANONYMOUS

  The morning of the contest deadline, I did something different from what I’d done all the previous mornings for the last month. I didn’t go to the computer within five minutes of waking up to check the leader board. Instead I calmly brushed my teeth, made a mug of tea, and stepped out onto the front porch. I didn’t think about anything specific. I just watched a squirrel run around our driveway. I walked over to our lilac bush and took a deep breath. It felt kind of good to just notice the day beginning. Since it was only 6:30 a.m., my entire family was still asleep. I knew the house would start creaking and groaning with their movements very soon, but in the meantime, it was nice to have the morning all to myself. It was dewy and fresh.

  I couldn’t believe I’d be starting high school in a little over two weeks. There was so much to do. I’d already gotten my schedule but hardly even looked at it. I should have been thinking about what clubs I wanted to join or if I wanted to audition for the concert choir. I still needed to get some new clothes and some school supplies. Soon I’d be doing homework and only working at the Leaf on the weekends and one night per week. Thank goodness Theresa had mentioned the night before she’d be interested in picking up some shifts. She’d be so easy to train, thanks to her love of tea and her pleasant demeanor.